ask the tree beside your window, pumpkin
by babyfungus
Summary: <html><head></head>- "No offence, but I've got to teach you about booty calls," he says. He wants her and he's having none of it. Troyella, songfic.</html>


_ask the tree beside your window, pumpkin_

Summary: "No offence, but I've got to teach you about booty calls," he says. He wants her and he's having none of it. There's a lot of italics involved. Troyella. Songfic: Teenage Dream - Katy Perry.

* * *

><p><strong>and got drunk on the beach -<strong>

"For the last time – and I really can't stress this enough: no, I do not harbor _any_ feelings of affection_, _secret or otherwise, for you!"

"_Whatever_. Go _away_."

"It doesn't matter how many different ways you ask me to jump into bed with you, the answer's always going to be _no_."

"—A big, fat giant neon-pink, devil-horns blinking _fucking_ _no_."

"Leave me _alone."_

"No no no no no!"

"Don't call me your 'goddess divine' _ever again._ does bad things to my self esteem."

"_Are you _crazy_?_"

"NO. Just stop it. Stop it stop it _stop it!_"

* * *

><p><strong>just one touch;<strong>

"You're _beautiful_."

And he says it with such conviction – such _wonder_ – she just can't _not_ believe him.

But she doesn't, of course.

* * *

><p><strong>you think i'm pretty<strong>**  
><strong>**without any make-up on**

If one looked close enough, they'd see steam coming out of her ears as she thumps on the see-through window. It's eight o' clock and a school night, and once and for all, Gabriella Montez has decided to put her foot down. "Bolton, open up _right this instance_ or I'll—"

He's before her, on the other side of the glass, in a second. If Troy Bolton is one thing, it's definitely not compliant. So when he materializes in front of her eyes from God knows where, grinning easily as he unlocks the door, Gabriella is not the least bit gratified; she knows better than to smile in _ulterior motives_' face when she sees them.

Because let's admit: Troy Bolton is a conniving bastard. An _evil_, conniving bastard.

He whips open the door and grins roguishly in her face. "No need to get all cranky, baby, we got _all night_."

Her left eye twitches.

"You little shit," she growls, barging past him with a rough push to the middle of his messy room, away from the night breeze. Dirty laundry litters every surface in sight. Gabriella suppresses a shudder. "You _utter_ dipshit. What are you playing at, honestly? I mean, it's not enough that you have to live _right next door_ and be a constant, _giant_ pain in my ass, you have to _go out of your way_ to make my life hell _too_—"

"_Gabi_," he cuts her off effectively with an eyeroll and pushes her down on his bed, arms crossed across his chest. The grin has dropped to a tiny smirk by now, but still chock full of smug arrogance. Gabriella springs up from the bed, frowning. "No offence, but I've got to teach you about booty calls," he all but _drawls, _shaking his head dejectedly.

She stands there, gaping like a beached trout.

"...not that you haven't got the heavy _c'mere_ look down to an art form. Then there's the part with all the tonsil hockey." He pauses. "And hickeys."

He grins innocently, walks towards her until he's standing right before her. He leans forwards and slouches down to her eye-level, blinking owlishly. "Care for a demonstration, my darling pumpkin puff?"

That does it.

She huffs, pushes at his chest with all her might. He doesn't budge an inch. Rolling her eyes heavenwards, she takes a step back instead. She glares. "I think you forgot the part where I castrate you and serve your genitals to the neighbourhood dog Wendy."

"_That_," he interjects, "would be rather counter-productive, don't you think?"

Blowing her fringe out of her eyes, Gabriella shoves at him again. This time he moves, if only a little; she gives herself a mental applause. "Can't you be serious and _non-horny _for one tiny second, Bolton? I mean, is it _really_ that hard for you? I came here for a purpose, unlike _you_—"

"Yes, and being the generous soul I am, I'm merely _helping_ you accomplish your 'purpose' – kudos on the euphemism, by the way—"

"—You're doing nothing but making me want to strangle your measly neck _all the more_—"

"—Aggressive little _minx_, aren't you?"

"Shut _up_, Bolton," she says, turns and walks herself a safe distance away from his wandering hands. And his wandering gaze. And his wandering, horny thoughts, space-invading person, and basically...

Troy flashes a quick grin, 'zips' his mouth and cocks his head, waiting.

...all of him.

She crosses her arms.

He raises an eyebrow.

"_Why_," she says evenly, giving him a hard glare, "did you joke around with Jacob Walters about me being 'your girl'?"

"I wasn't joking around," he quips instantly, smirking again. "Merely stating the truth. You know, in case someone gets the wrong idea and asks _my girl _out. Last time they almost got away with it."

Gabriella stares at him, unamused. This is turning out to be a rather failed endeavour. "Haha," she deadpans.

"Told you pumpkin, I wasn't joking. _Am_ not joking, in fact." He says it with such an easy smile that it would've been hard for her to _not _believe him...

...had she been someone else, that is. Ha.

Her hands take a perch on the curve of her hips. She throws her head back, sucking in a breath through her teeth. "What the hell do you _mean_? What does it even mean, _your girl?_" She scrunches up her nose. "_God, are you _stupid_?"_

"It means what it means," he says, and he's grinning and wagging his eyebrows. Gabriella doesn't know why.

She waits for the 'gotcha' and the loud, mocking, teary laughter for a second. It doesn't come. Not now... probably never, sadly.

"No, I'm _not_." It's funny in a surreal way. He's still grinning, eyes dancing. "What the _hell_," she says, almost incredulous.

He waves it off unlike the big conundrum it is, and scoffs impatiently. "Why do you even care about him? He's just a stupid, big jerk."

"_He_," she grinds, "is the love of my life. The reason I breathe. The whole reason I drag my tired ass out of bed each morning and make efforts to endure this _you_-infected world, in hope that he may, someday, look my way and sweep me off my feet."

Troy looks at her dryly as if she's a cheesy TV commercial.

Really now. If she's a cheesy TV commercial, he's a _chick flick_.

He drops down into his desk chair. "Really nice joke. Perfect execution; you almost got me. Really."

"But you see, _I wasn't joking around_," she mocks, and smiles innocently when he scowls. It feels good to get under his skin.

"Yeah, you were," he says clearly, easily. Looks at her knowingly. "You just haven't _realized_ it yet."

Realized it yet? _Realized it yet_?

Once again in the span of ten minutes, Gabriella is forced to resemble a gaping fish.

Confusing. She shakes her head slowly and turns back towards the balcony doors. Failed endeavour, that's the phrase. "No, you know what. You're crazy. _Crazy_. A farthead. _Bonkers. _A big fat riddle."

"And you, sweetcheeks, are way too pretty."

Gabriella lets out a snort, facing the other way. "_Yeeeah_. You're just a barrel of jokes today, aren't you?"

"Not joking, princess. Swear to Coke."

She lets out a laugh instinctively, her fingers fluttering against the door handle. It's too absurd; she's standing in his balcony in _sweats and a baggy old t-shirt – _and _bed _hair_... _not even the _sexy_ kind_ -_, and she's just almost bitten his head off, and he's calling her _pretty_. Too absurd. The cold night air rushes in through the crevice of the slightly open door, but she doesn't feel it.

She looks over her shoulder at him; he's grinning in a way that doesn't reach his eyes, and she's suddenly not sure why she felt the need to confront him about the Jacob Walters thing in the first place.

She wonders if that's the way he always is when her back is turned, and walks out into the embrace of the winter breeze.

* * *

><p><strong>built a fort out of sheets;<strong>**  
><strong>**- i finally found you**

"So this is becoming kind of a weekly thing, pumpkin puff. Not that I mind or anything."

She heaves herself over the railing and sweeps her fringe back. "Shut up. I would be some place far, far away from here if it could be helped."

Troy snatches her hand before she's even set foot on the ground of his balcony. He drags her inside and shuts the door with his free hand.

He brings her into a one-armed hug. She feel his breath on her cheek. "And yet, here you are. _In my embrace... drawn to me like two pieces of magnet_... Wow, I'm _good_."

He smells _spicy_. _And delicious._

She peels his arm away from her pointedly, giving herself a mental smack. Quirks an eyebrow. "Are you seriously going all _Shelly _on me?"

"Hey, that was an _original_."

"Yeah, and _puke_-_worthy_."

Rolling her eyes, Gabriella drops down into his desk chair and peers down at the array of papers scattered all over the surface. She tries not to look up and trace his form as he move about.

"Rough night?" he asks from the bathroom door, toothbrush in hand. They both know what he means by that, sadly.

"You don't know half of it." She shudders. "The walls were _shaking."_

Troy lets out a small laugh and disappears inside the bathroom for a moment. She hears him gargle and turn the water off.

When he reappears, he's grinning. "The mother and the latest stepdad?"

"The mother and the _horizontally_-_challenged_ latest stepdad."

He frowns, remembering. "Oh yeah."

"They're not my parents, you know. At least _he_ isn't. And I'm still not completely sure about her either," she mumbles, doodling with a pencil. "God, I'm afraid of going back to that _hell_."

He looks at her, grins softly. "You shouldn't. At the moment, he's sucking her facelift-ruined-lips."

Turning to him, Gabriella makes a disgusted face. "Thanks for the imagery. Now I _really_ don't want to go back."

"Good. Mission accomplished."

She regards him dryly. "You are an ass." She pauses. "...Wait, you _look_ at her lips?"

Instantly, his eyes widen in alarm and he shakes his head vehemently as if the mere accusation burned him. "I don't! They're like... fat balloons, giant _vision_-_hogging_ balloons. You should know!"

There's a short silence.

"You're a creep," she says, deadpan.

"Come on, you know it's _freaky_."

Pretending to contemplate it, Gabriella lets out an abrupt laugh. "You're right," she gasps."It's freaky as _hell_. She can't talk properly, it's like she's stuck with this perpetual _pucker_, or something. Gross."

"You know, it's a good thing they aren't her natural lips."

She peers at him curiously as he smirks.

"Yeah?"

"There's this thing called _genetics_."

Understanding dawns on her. She gives a visible shudder, eyes wide. "Nightmares."

"Yeah, to think the world would've been deprived of _thy soft, lush lips_—"

"Yeah okay, overstepping boundaries, Shelly."

He grins. Grins so wide, it cracks his face.

Wishful thinking.

"I'm on a roll with this poetry thing tonight, aren't I?"

"If one has the audacity to call it that," she answers delicately.

Somehow, in the span of the next five minutes, they've both ended up lying on his bed, side by side. Gabriella thinks it's a nightmare-come-true. Troy, not so much.

"...Bolton?"

"Gabi?"

"Did we seriously just have an extensive conversation about my mother's fake _lips_?"

Troy nods seriously, looking equally confused. "Yeah, and her mating habits too, apparently."

She turns to look at him, frowning. "We need to be committed."

"Totally."

They share a disturbed look.

"Today is just full of surprises, I guess."

"Yeah, but _pleasant_ surprises."

"Yeah, because realizing you might just need therapy is _so_ much fun?"

"You should stay, you know," he says.

He looks serious. Gabriella swallows unconsciously, and then snorts. "In your dreams."

The grin is back before she knows it, blinding her with its proximity. "Hey. I'm not going to deny it."

Her eyes widen, face flushes for some inexplicable reason. "You—you..."

"Eloquent."

"You _ass_."

"_Such_ eloquence."

"Stop smirking at me!"

"Stop _glare_-_murdering_ me!"

Gabriella huffs and scrapes herself off the bed. "I should go. The... amorous activities... should have stopped by now."

"Ho ho ho, never underestimate the libido of a horizontally-challenged man."

She laughs before she can think about it. Looking at him, she gives him a genuine smile. "About your offer..."

Troy sits up, lips turned up. "Yeah?"

"Tomorrow, be ready with a set of bedsheets."

"We're going to do the fort thing _again_?"

Gabriella nods happily as he cringes.

"And just so you know, there won't be any renditions of my mother's doings in _this_ room, Bolton."

He wags his eyebrows.

"...At least not yet."

She giggles. _Giggles_.

Eyes wide, Troy lets out the sound of a dying man. "Thanks for the sleep deprivation, pumpkin puff."

With that he throws off his shirt and squirms out of his jeans, smack dab in the middle of the room. Right _in_ _front_ of her.

"What're you doing?" Her voice is an octave higher.

"Getting ready for bed?"

"Yeah? Do you always sleep without a darn shirt on? ...Never mind, that makes sense."

She turns around and mumbles a reluctant "good night".

"Hey Gabi?"

"_What_?"

"Revenge is sweet, isn't it?"

She scoffs disbelievingly. Later in her bed, she _really_ can't believe it; she's losing sleep over that moron's _bare chest._

* * *

><p><strong>you make my walls come down, down.<strong>

"I'm hungry," he says.

"Then go fix yourself something to eat, lazyass."

"Can't."

She rolls her eyes and chances a glance at her digital clock. 1 AM and he still can't get over his stomach needs. "Pray tell, _why_?"

"Don't wanna."

"Then starve to death and see if anybody cares."

"Oh, people care."

"Shocker." Gabriella snuggles into her pillow. "You're delusional."

"Coming from you, my pumpkin puff?"

"Shut up."

"Babe, I'm _hungry_," he scoffs, and she imagines him rolling his eyes. "And men tend to get crabby when they're hungry."

"Your point being...?"

"My point being, I might just get crabby. And I might decide to come over. And it might not be pretty."

Gabriella pauses, blinks. "And you might be a little gay."

"_Won't be pretty when the man comes over, won't be pretty when the man comes over,"_ he says in a robot voice.

She gives a snort. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"No, merely a warning."

"A very sexist threat. You're lucky you're not here."

She hears him gasp. "It wasn't _sexist_, it was _endearing_!"

"Endearing in what way, _caveman_?"

There's a slight pause from his end. Gabriella is strangely tempted to throw back her covers and peep through the window.

"I is hungry."

She laughs. "Then go get yourself something to eat._ Some people_ want to sleep."

Troy scoffs. "Eat what, _porridge_? And you know Bertha is a barren maiden."

"...You nicknamed your fridge?"

"...Don't I get brownie points for creativity?"

Pause. "No. And besides, _Bertha _is loaded to the brim. You forget I'm an acquaintance of hers, and she's not quite as 'barren' as you make her out to be."

"...You _suck_."

"Wouldn't _you_ know, lover-boy."

"Gabi," he groans, slowly. She sinks deeper into her bed. "Don't _make_ me come up there and eat _you_."

"That was lame, Bolton, even for you. And what's with the italics?"

"You _want_ me."

"No, I want a bald patch. STDs, maybe. And earwax. _Not _you_."_

He gives a fake sob. "You're _cruel_."

They lapse into a silence that lasts twenty seconds.

"...Troy?"

"Mm, what?"

Gabriella shifts a little on her bed and props herself on her elbow. She grins. "I think I've got a stash of _Twinkies_ and Mars bars hidden somewhere in my closet."

A minute later, there's some noise outside her balcony window and Troy staggers into her room with wide eyes.

"You rock my _world_."

* * *

><p><strong>no regrets, just love<strong>

"Wow, you're glowing."

"Am I?" She laughs, clutching the books to her chest. "Well, it's a beautiful day."

"Yeah?" He's smiling lightly, softly. Unbidden, he takes her hand and gives her a little twirl.

Gabriella's eyes twinkle as she tries to look irritated. "What was that for?"

"Well, it's a beautiful day," he offers, smirking cheekily. "And I wanted to."

She laughs again and presses her books to him. She steps towards the fountain and stretches her arms out, embracing the wind, and twirls again.

Turning to him, she smiles infinitesimally. "Twirling _is_ fun.

"So tell me."

"What?"

"Why you're all glowy."

"Can't I just be happy?"

"Well, you can be," he compensates, peering at her. "But _you'_re not a little miss sunshine unless you absolutely _need_ to."

"Gee, thanks," she deadpans.

"No, really. Tell me."

She bites her lips, doubtful, smiling nervously. She aims for a teasing tone. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

"Sweetcheeks, I'd take a bullet for you."

For some reason, it hurts more than it needs to.

She turns her head away. "All talk."

"You really shouldn't sound so sure."

"Yeeeah. Like I'm really supposed to believe that you're just randomly turned from hating my guts to worshipping them."

The light in his eyes dies a little. "Do you really believe I can ever – _have ever _– hated your guts?"

Gabriella hesitates. "Well, actions speak for themselves."

He stares at her for a second, then breaks out into a full-blown grin. "Stop sidetracking me, you little cheat."

"Heh heh."

"Tell me," he whines.

"Jacob asked me out," she blurts. It comes out rushed and cluttered, and Gabriella feels like she's done something horribly, horribly wrong.

He's silent for a second, smile frozen in place.

And then, grinning easily:

"Your prince charming is finally coming around isn't he? Took him long enough."

And without even knowing it, Gabriella sags in relief.

For the next three days, there's no light in his room at night.

* * *

><p><strong>so take a chance<strong>**  
><strong>**and don't ever look back -**

"Where've you been?" she demands from his bed, the moment he steps into the room. It's 11 PM.

He stops and peers back through the still-open door before looking at her questioningly. He shakes his head. "Am I dreaming?"

"Where have you _been_?"

Troy closes the door behind him, scowling, and crosses his arms across his chest. His gaze is narrowed. "Around."

Gabriella gapes, swinging her legs over the edge of his bed. Her expression reads _what the hell? _"_Around_?"

"Yeah, _around_." He holds his chin up.

"I haven't seen you since Friday!"

"I'm _sorry_, I was given to understand that you _like_ it when I leave you the hell alone?"

"Stop being such an _idiot_," she hisses, wanting to walk over and thwack him. This is not how she'd imagined the conversation in her head.

He's frowning. "Look Gabriella, I'm tired and... and now – just isn't a good time."

Gabriella lets out a snort. "There's no way in hell I'm buying that."

"Yeah?" he snaps, stepping forward. "Too bad, because it's the _truth_."

"Is it... was it the Jacob Walters – thing?" she blurts.

There's a long silence as he stands there, not looking at her. Or looking at her. She doesn't really know anymore.

"You should've said something," she says quietly, looking at her hands.

"Not entirely." At her confused look, he licks his lips. "It wasn't entirely that."

"What do you mean, not entirely? Stop talking in riddles."

His head snaps up.

That seems to annoy him.

Immensely.

"When have I _ever_ talked in riddles with you, pumpkin?"

"Well—"

"Listen, it hurts, you know?" He drops down in front of her and places his hands at her shoulders. He looks angry; Gabriella gets the feeling he wants to shake her. "It hurts to know that the whole fucking _town_ knows and acknowledges the fact that you're crazy about this girl _except_ for the girl—"

"Troy, don't—"_ Don't go there_, she thinks. But she wants him to.

She _wants_ him to.

His left hand jumps into his hair in frustration. "No, you know what? I'm going to come clean with you Gabriella, just once and for all, 'cause you're so fucking oblivious to everything, it's _stupid_."

"I'm not _stupid_."

Shaking his head, Troy rolls his eyes. "Honestly, was that the only thing you got out of what I just said?"

"Well—"

His eyes soften a little. "Just _listen_ to me, okay? I _like_ you, don't you get that? It's simple really, no riddle, no grand gestures, no... big nothing."

Gabriella's breath catches in her throat.

"No, you don't," she says automatically, shaking her head viciously. "It's just an obse—"

"Oh, trust me, I've tried the _'it's just an obsession'_ approach, okay? Because it's not—

Her eyes are wide. "You don't even _know_ me."

Troy gives a short, dry laugh.

"I don't even know you? Are you _listening_ to yourself?"

She grapples for a valid argument. "Well, you certainly didn't know that I don't like seeing my underwear taped to your glass window with a 'Lost my way home' written on them with a black sharpie!"

"_That_," he grins blithely, "was my eleven-year-old way of telling you I liked you."

She gives him a dry look. "You obviously didn't know I would've preferred to, oh I don't know, _just be told_, like any other normal person would."

"I'm telling you now!" He snatches her hand from her lap, his eyes intense. "_I like you _and I want you to know that because you can't _not _and because it's _important."_

Her spine tingles.

"You should've told me," she says again.

He scoffs and flops down on the bed beside her. She doesn't have to look at him to know that he's rolling his eyes. "Yeah, and burst your happy little bubble?"

"It wasn't about _me_—"

"But it was." His voice is soft, and she has to wonder why she's not launching herself at him and trying out all her fantasies right there and then. "It was. You should've looked at yourself. You were glowing so brightly, a blind person could've seen you."

He shifts suddenly, bringing his head in her lap and staring up at her. She's surprised to see he doesn't look bitter in the least, just happy. Grinning. Unconsciously, she slips her hand into his bangs and brushes the hair out of his eyes.

His grin widens.

She's starting to get the hang of this thing they have.

* * *

><p><strong>- when i tell the punch line wrong<strong>

Troy drops into the seat next to Gabriella's, slides his tray on the table and pops open his _Pepsi_.

Which he then proceeds to place right in the middle of page 264 of the latest edition of her new _Chemistry: Principles and Reactions._

Calmly Gabriella reaches over and lifts it up pointedly for him to see the wet, circular ring it's left on the page.

She looks at him furiously.

"Oops," he says, then shoves down a fistful of chips down his throat.

Gabriella slams the can down on the table. "No, _oops_ is what God said when he made you—"

"More like: _Gasp_, how did I get it so _perfectly_ right—?"

"—_you, _how_ever_, need a whole other word to express your regret."

"—_whatever_ will the ladies do now?"

"The ladies would smack his head against a wall of concrete till it bleeds _blue—"_

"More like _bow down _at his feet and _pepper_ his face with kisses—"

"—his big, giant, inflated balloon head that can't wrap itself around the fact—"

"—his beautiful, _perfectly_ structured head—"

"—_that the world doesn't revolve around him!_"

Taylor stares at Sharpay with an Oh-my-_God_ expression.

"Told you, they're better than cable."

* * *

><p><strong>now every february<strong>**  
><strong>**you'll be my valentine, valentine**

"You called me _your_ _voluptuous sugarplum_ in front of the old lady," she says.

"_You_ gave me all the reason to," he says.

"I _hugged_ you," she says, incredulous.

"_Exactly_."

Troy's walking backward, facing her. It's a beautiful, sunny day but Gabriella can't help being a sap and think his grin is her personal source of sunshine.

_Yeeeah_.

She tries not to laugh. "You know, ever since you told me... your_ little secret,_ you've been trying to mess with my head."

"Have _not_."

"Have too. You're all smiley and... well, _fun_."

"Darling, I'm always 'smiley and fun', you just don't admit it."

"Uh huh."

"Besides you're all smiley and – dare I say – _fun _too."

"That's because you're _messing with my head _and turning me into a stupid idiot_._"

Gabriella sees something shift in his eyes, and the next second he's raising his eyebrows and she's colliding with his chest.

He catches her wrists behind her back with one hand swiftly, bends down and stomps a hard kiss on her lips.

Before she knows it, he's pulled back and continued walking forward, his back towards her. She's left standing on her tip toes, eyes wide.

_Hot damn_, Gabriella thinks.

"Am I now?" he says over his shoulder, smiling innocently.

Eyes wide, she huffs and tells him to leave her the hell alone, knowing full well there's no way he's going to comply.

He does.

* * *

><p><strong>we can dance until we die<strong>**  
><strong>**you and i**

"What're you doing here?" he asks her, eyebrow raised, the moment she enters his room. His tone is flat, unlike the expressive, swaying lilt she's been so used to. "I thought I was supposed to 'leave you the hell alone' and all?"

She tries not to notice how he has started keeping the balcony doors unlocked.

"You _are_," she snaps, nervous. "Just... just... here!"

She throws his middle school basketball jersey at his chest that she's brought along as an excuse - a _ridiculously weak and pathetic_ excuse, at that - and proceeds to stare at the floor. He'd forced it on her the last year of middle school, and being the big sap she is, she just couldn't bring herself to discard it. Because no matter _whose_ it was, it was still _someone's_ jersey.

And you know how it is with jerseys.

They are important.

Her face is a flaming, telltale shade of red.

The corner of his lips hitches up as he stares at the ball of cloth in his hand. "You came here to return my _middle school _jersey in the _middle_ of the night through my _window_?"

"Yeah, I did," she says, crossing her arms with a defiant look as if there isn't anything grandly telling about it. There _so_ is. "Got a problem with that?"

His smirk has upgraded to the level of a full-blown grin by now, and he's taking small careful steps towards her. Gabriella steps back unconsciously. "Oh _no_," he says, voice straight but emphatic. "No, I just - I didn't realize how much I _needed_ it until now. Seriously, _thank you. _Oxygen can suck it."

And to emphasize his point, he brings the jersey to his nose and inhales deeply. Something in his eyes changes.

She gapes at him, indignant. "Are you _mocking_ me?"

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "No," he says – murmurs, more like –, stepping dangerously closer. He wears an expression of utter sincerity and gratitude – _fake_ utter sincerity and gratitude. "I'm just _so_ thankful."

Another step.

"Yeah, well," she squeaks, fumbling as he stops to a standstill right in front of her, face hovering in her field of vision. The roguish grin makes it hard for her to think straight. "It was a no biggie, you know. Heh heh. Seriously, you should've told me sooner, I would've—e_eeep_."

His hand brushes back a stray strand of hair, and then his hand is on her neck. _Near her clavicle. _All _fluttery_. He seems completely unperturbed by the squeaky sound she lets out. "But I did tell you," he murmurs. "You just chose not to listen."

Gabriella's not so sure if they're still talking about the jersey.

"I... uh, I—" She swallows and fixes her eyes on his neck. Bad idea. "I'm sorry?"

She feels his laughter more than hears it, rumbling inside the chest that's pressed so close to hers. It's a strangely soothing sensation. "You better be," he murmurs against the corner of her mouth.

But then just like that, he's pulling away and stalking towards his bed and _flopping down._

Flopping down._ Flopping down._

Gabriella gapes.

"What?" she says, incredulous.

"What?" he reciprocates calmly. He leans against the headboard, crossing his feet at the ankle.

Huffing, she flails her hands around a bit. "Are you for _real_?"

"What did I do?"

"I said I was _sorry_!"

"And I accepted it."

"Then why," she sputters, gesturing to his spot on the bed and hers in the middle of the room and the distance between the two, "did you... did this... _what in the world is happening_?"

He looks alarmed. "Gabi?"

Stupidly, she gestures towards her (_still tingly_) lips.

Judging by his twitchy lips, he seems to have deciphered her meaning. "You know," he rubs his chin, contemplating her thoughtfully; "I heard this saying somewhere. Something about how actions speak louder than words and all, you know. Just sayin', not that your_ words _weren't loud enough or anything. But you know, a little reinforcement never hurt anybody."

Reinforcement? _Reinforcement_?

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. Conniving, evil bastard alright. "Are you saying what I _think_ you're saying? That I be the..._initiator_ here?"

His bluntness is rubbing off on her, because she doesn't even blush as she says it.

He quirks an eyebrow, smirking and gives her a one-shoulder shrug.

Let it be known that Gabriella Montez is a tough cookie who knows what she wants and goes after it.

She walks over and, leaning down, boldly catches his lips with hers. It's an awkward kiss, with him lying down and her standing up, but she has a point to make. After a moment of indecision, Gabriella withdraws.

She straightens her top and shrugs indifferently. "The world _is_ all about taking the first steps, isn't it?"

Just before she closes the doors behind her, she hears him scoff.

"And to think I waited two days for _that_."

_And we're back where we started,_ she thinks, rolling her eyes. This thing is just getting ridiculous.

* * *

><p><strong>let you put your hands on me<strong>**  
><strong>**in my skin-tight jeans**

On her scale of painful experiences, it stands somewhere in between heartburn and one Taylor McKessie's baking. She's pretty sure they have a name for it – guide books, even – but being the staunch non-conformist that she is, she just lazes around in bed and laps up two tubs of _Ben & Jerry_'s instead of doing something about it.

"It's called heartbreak," Sharpay had said, rolling her eyes. "And it needs to be _dealt with._"

That's her subtle way of telling Gabriella to man up and talk to Troy.

And honestly, Gabriella can't take it anymore. So she does the only thing that comes to her mind, something that she is sure ranks up pretty high on the evolutionary scale of Stupid Things, but it's 1 AM and she can't be bothered to think properly.

Or think at _all_.

So she shimmies across the tree beside her balcony to the one on the other side, slips in through the doors and into Troy's bed, promptly curling into him and falling asleep.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She wakes up in the middle of the night to find herself staring at his face as he calmly peruses a comic book.

Troy notices instantly, but doesn't react. Instead he takes off his glasses – _noooo_, her inner fangirl groans – and places them and the book on his bedside table.

He looks at her calmly, expression blank.

"You look hot with glasses," she blurts.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything for a moment...

"Are we going to talk about it?"

...before dropping the bomb.

She smiles weakly and tries not to cower. "Is that so necessary?" Noticing the unamused expression on his face, she winces. "I mean, uh, yeah, of course. Why not. Heh heh."

Troy struggles with fighting a smile for a second, then turns sober again.

"It's your date with Walters tomorrow, isn't it?" he asks suddenly – grumbles, if she's to let her imagination run wild – and really, Gabriella is not sure if she's imagining it or what but he sounds _bitter._

Well, definitely _almost _bitter.

"Oh yeah," she says, nervously. It isn't the foremost thing on her mind at the moment, but if he wants to talk about it, then why not. "That old... thing."

For some reason, her response seems to ease his tension a little. Because the next moment, the mattress dips as he positions himself on top of her.

On top of her. _Hovering._

Gabriella finds it hard to breathe. _He_ looks completely at ease.

"Okay then," he says slowly, smirking. He scans her face quickly, and what he sees seems to have pleased him, so he continues. "I need to tell you... some things."

Her voice comes out higher than she intends. "Some things? ...Like?"

"Like I'm not going to pretend I'm all fine and dandy with this Walters thing, but... I'm going to offer you a deal." He speaks slowly and deliberately, like he _wants _her heart to do the gallop it's doing at the moment.

"A deal?"

"A deal," he says. Smirks. "You're going to go to that stupid date from hell tomorrow and you're going to _think about me_."

Her mouth drops open on its own accord and she lets out a disbelieving sound._ Arrogant ass_, she thinks. "_Uh_, you _wish_."

He ignores her calmly. "_You're_ going to think about me, and it's going to make you go crazy because Walters is stupid and I'm awesome and you're going to wish I were there with you instead of him."

He kisses the corner of her lips. Gabriella grapples with her scattered thoughts.

"Please. _Puh_ lease." She wriggles, scoffing.

His grin widens.

"I want to kiss you. I mean, I'm _going_ to kiss you. And guess what pumpkin, that's _all_ you're going to think about tomorrow."

She dons a cold façade. "You might think your lips are all mighty and to-die-for, but _I _don't."

He raises an eyebrow. "You really sure about that?"

And with that, he drops his oh-so-mighty lips on hers and Gabriella finds she can't refute his point any longer.

His hand is at her waist, the other one propping him up. The kiss is rough and rushed, his lips hard and determined against her, like he's trying to prove a point.

Which he is.

_And, _Gabriella realizes with a start, breathless, _so am I. In a really stupid, weird way, but I am._

He drops his mouth to her neck. _Her clavicle._ It's like he knows exactly what that does to her. "Think of me, Gabi," he murmurs against her skin. "And I'll think of you."

And Gabriella Montez might be all sorts of stupid and insecure, but she knows better than to let this boy go because of it. This crazy, annoying, idiotic boy who's barged his way into her life and who's sort of turning into her everything.

So she slides her hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugs him back. He needs to know.

"Troy," she says, "I don't _like_ him."

And she means it more than she can understand.

For a second his expression is blank, like he doesn't believe her. Then, slowly, he breaks into a smile so brilliant, Gabriella doesn't know why she didn't do this sooner.

"I really, really don't."

"The feeling's mutual."

"Glad to know." She matches his grin. "You, however, are a whole different story."

She kisses him, slow and unrushed, and curls her feet with his.

She might still need closure with the whole Jacob Walters thing, but there's a lot of difference between being in love with the _idea_ of someone and being in love with them.

And frankly, Troy Bolton kisses _awesome_.

**let's runaway**

She's wearing denim cutoffs and a yellow, off-the-shoulder top. Her hair is thrown into a messy, careless ponytail, and she's laughing, head thrown back, cherry red nails pressed lightly to her lips.

"Troy!" she shouts, laughing. "I wanna dance with you in the rain!"

And guess what, it's raining.

Grinning, Troy swivels himself over the railing and steps onto the sturdy branch. He looks up to see her doing the same.

"What are you doing?"

She laughs again, fluttering her fingers at him from her end. "Meeting you halfway there!"

He smirks.

"Where's there?"

"There's here."

"Here where?"

In his room, the _Flobots _music continues to play. He can't help but think this is perfect.

* * *

><p><strong>be your teenage dream tonight;<strong>

"So is _that_ a yes?"

"Yes yes _yes_, it's a big fat giant neon-pink devil-horns _blinking_ fucking_ YES_ and I'm _never_ taking it back!"

"...What's a devil-horns yes?"

"The ring, idiot, _the ring_!"

* * *

><p>AN; i finally decided to pen this thing down. it's been a distraction, and i have exams in less than a week. URGH, cruel, right? ;D<p> 


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